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dangerous?”
    “Probably.”
    That wasn’t a surprise. She shifted her weight and saw a man-size shadow move closer to the fire. Whatever he was involved in, he wasn’t doing it alone.
    “Is it illegal?”
    “Yes or no, Pira.”
    She drummed her fingers on her upper arm, thinking. There was only one question she needed answered, and she could already guess what her brother would say. “Is it for the good of the Keepers?”
    “Would I do anything that wasn’t?”
    Pira paused before answering. Not because she doubted her brother’s devotion to their people, but because she knew her hesitation would irritate him. “I suppose . . .”
    He reached for the doorknob.
    “Of course I’ll swear!” she said before he could shut the door in her face.
    Pira wanted to take the words back the instant she realized who else occupied the cottage’s kitchen.

Chapter 7

    Johanna
    “I swear on my honor, and Dom’s and your own, Mother. I did not know he was a girl.”
    “That doesn’t matter,” a woman’s voice responded. “You know the law. We don’t hand out justice with our fists.”
    “Look at the way he’s dressed. It’s completely inappropriate. And he was poach—”
    “Referring to the girl as a ‘he’ won’t change the facts, Rafael.” The tone was a velvet-wrapped dagger. Johanna kept her eyes closed, hoping to avoid the woman who could wield it so potently.
    Her location was foreign, the sounds of horses and scent of lilacs on the air proved that certainty. And good glory, the satin coverlet felt delicious against her palms.
    “You beat someone into unconsciousness. You bloodied her leg and likely broke her ribs.”
    “I wouldn’t have hurt her if I’d known—”
    “So you’d annihilate a boy you outweigh by double?”
    “He tried to strangle me.”
    “ She defended herself. ”
    The silence was damning, neither of them spoke, but the room filled with tension.
    “Rafi.” The woman’s voice gentled. “What would you have me do? Shall I pretend it never happened?”
    Fabric rustled, and Johanna opened her eyes a narrow slit. A woman and a man stood silhouetted against a large stained glass window. They were both tall and fine featured, but the man— boy, really —had dark hair that curled on the verge of wild.
    “I would never ask you to ignore the law, Your Grace,” he said with unusual formality. “I let my temper get the best of me. I’ll take the punishment you deem worthy.”
    “Your Grace”? Where am I?
    The woman raised her hand to her son’s cheek. “We won’t make it public knowledge. A few witnesses, perhaps the new weaponsmaster and the Captain of the Guard. Just enough people to satisfy questions, if there are any.”
    “And the girl, of course.”
    “It is her right.”
    Another hesitation, a heavy exhale. “Will she still be tried for poaching?”
    Johanna, a consummate actress, could have feigned sleep for days to come, especially in a bed more comfortable than any she’d ever enjoyed. But she also knew the importance of dramatic timing. She’d been coached for years on perfect delivery, and this was her moment to make an entrance into the conversation.
    She tried to push herself upright, but her head spun like a loose wagon wheel. The groan of pain was legitimate.
    “Our fair thief wakes,” the boy mumbled, stepping away from the window and nearer her bed. She saw then what the window’s light had disguised: dark eyes framed with thick lashes and straight brows, a fine nose, and a strong chin. He was perhaps two years her senior, nearing naming age.
    The face wasn’t unfamiliar. It had been a few years since her troupe had performed for Duke and Lady DeSilva’s estate, but she remembered their son as a smiling boy who applauded and cheered and begged for so many songs that her mother’s infallible voice grew weary.
    “I am many things, sir, but poacher is not a title I bear.”
    He coughed, a cold approximation of a laugh and likely the best this